A Dark Dawn
by WCSII
Summary: A New Overlord is awakened to herald evil's dominion over all.  Only, evil has already taken root in the world.  What is an Overlord to do when the only thing disruptive left, is good?  Useful critiques welcomed, as are story suggestions via PM.
1. Bad Beginings

BAD BEGININGS

_What happens when evil has found a way? And won?_

_Darkness, or is it? A void perhaps, yes, a void. No light, no shadow, just… nothing. No sensations, no breath, no beating… am I, dead? Was I alive? Am I still living? Where am I anyways? I try to look around, but I am unable, I feel nothing, no limbs, no head, no body. Why? Why can't I feel my body? Do I still have a body? Did I ever have a body? What am I?_

_A sound! I can hear a sound! But what is it? It sounds like someone is trying to say something. Trying to tell me, something. I, I can't make it out, what are they saying? Who is talking? Are they talking to me? Speak louder, I can't hear you! Please. Where am I! … …. … The sound has stopped. I am alone. I… don't want to be alone. I want… friends. I want… family. I… I… I WANT TO LIVE!_

The void slowly fades to darkness, a stark contrast unlike any most have ever seen. Still light does not enter this world of sightless darkness, but still the darkness is different from the nothingness of the void. A clear voice speaks up, deep, and gravelly, "In a world where evil has won and good is now the hunted. A world of death, destruction, chaos, and suffering. Where thieves steal the things of value from others without so much as a word else wise." As the voice mentions this, the image of some average male walks up to another man, and simply takes their coin purse, the victim clearly startled at first, then looks forlorn after the thief as the first one walks away.

"Cut throats that kill in plain view of the public with nary a cry or alarm." The vision changes to one guy, obviously doing better off than those around him, arguing with another whom looks impoverished, but not as though they weren't fed. Out of nowhere a third man enters, and stabs the rich looking man with a sword, plunged from behind into his chest. Not one person is alarmed, and many rushing to pick clean the dying mercantilist, and no one weeps for the murdered.

"Arsonists gleefully making marry setting fire to buildings in full view of everyone and none to stop them." Again, the vision changes, now showing some spindly looking person, no clear features as to if is man or woman. Dancing around the base of a building, stopping every once and a while to slosh some sort of liquid onto the structure. After running out of the liquid they start to pile wood at the base of the building. Once they felt they were finished, the individual fetches an unlit torch, and some flint. Lighting the torch, they throw it at the kindling surrounding the building, and watches as the wood, and liquid quickly speeds the fire to catching the structure ablaze. Soon, screams are heard from within, and quickly the occupants exit the burning building, some even on fire themselves. And yet no one has approached the clear perpetrator of the fire.

"Community leaders leading with Iron hands, and ruled only by their greed." Another image comes forth, this one of a lavished, over fed land lord whom held the land of an entire town in his name with a small army that he employs to keep the citizens paying him with riches, crafts, and other fine items; and offering 'tributes.' Lounging on a long chair, carelessly chewing on a drumstick as a 'tenant' and his family beg for an extension on their dues. With but one look to his guard, the young daughter is taken prisoner, in fear for the safety of his daughter, the man attacks the guard, but doesn't even get close as three other guards rush him. When they back away, the sounds of metal sliding against flesh echoes when they remove their short blades from the doomed man's gut. Falling to his knees, he reaches out a single hand toward his daughter, where the guard holding her unsheathes his sword and runs the man through his heart. Disgusted with the sight of the dying man, the lord waves his hand at the man, and his guards drag off the body as the man draws his final breath. The wife, in shock, can only look after her former husband as his body is dragged from the meeting room. The daughter merely glares at the lord, tears swelling in her eyes. But the lord doesn't notice, as he looking at the figure of the recently widowed wife. Licking his lips, he quickly nods with his head at the guard holding the daughter to leave, and snaps his fingers before pointing to the grieving woman. As the doors to the room closes, it can be seen that guards are lifting the woman, and ushering her toward the lord, a certain sheen in his eyes. And the woman fighting against the guards pushing her ever nearer toward the vile glutton.

When the doors close, the vision disappears, and suddenly is replaced with the light of a nearby torch burning brightly to the side, a dank looking room. He blinks, and the sight remains the same. Just before he is about to move his head, a face leans in from the opposite side of his sight. A gnarled old face, graying, and slightly blinded eyes. A stone tied by some leather string dangling from a post of some sort, shining somehow, illuminated the rest of the faces features that the torch did not. Long, pointed ears, slightly bent down. Bell shaped eyes that seemed to glow slightly with a tinge of yellow. And the grin. No teeth, but if it did have teeth left, they certainly would have made the grin look more like a hungry smile than a pleasant one. The creature spoke. Its voice unlike the one before, a slightly higher pitched, but no less gravelly tone to it. "Makes one wonder just what they can do to set themselves apart from the common rift raft, as a true bastion of evil, doesn't it, my lord? In a world where everyone is evil, and no one cares what happens. We've certainly got our work cut out for us. So, let's not dawdle, and get right to it shall we?" The face leans away, backwards… realizing he is lying down, he tests his arms, and slowly, painfully they rise and grip the edges of some sort of box. As he pulls himself up he hears another voice, this one not so gravelly as the other two, and much higher pitched than the old one.

"But, I haven't finished my story!" Sitting up, he sees another one with a face similar to the older one, but missing an eye, and wearing a jester's hat. The new one also seemed younger, and less hunched, scrappy looking, but also like it hadn't eaten in months, skin and bones, yet it still looked as if it could take on any healthy man in a fight. Turning his head to take in his surroundings, the older one speaks, "But Quaver, how can you finish your story, when it hasn't even yet begun?"

* * *

The creatures, minions, they called themselves, lead him throw darkly lit tunnels. Toward some place, that the older one said would explain much more than he could. The minion Jester, Quaver, seemed to easily become bored, and took bouts of walking on his hands, or juggling some baton with a small skull tied to it along with a mini jester's hat of its own. As irksome as this childlike behavior was to him, he found it still to be amusing at times, especially when the minion missed a 'step' with his hand and fell, or when he misjudged the baton and it ended up dropping on his head or foot. Idly, he mused to himself what sort of thing would cause this minion to take up the role of comedy, poor performance though it was? The older minion had introduced itself as Gnarl, oddly appropriate considering its appearances. Shortly after he was able to stand on his own, and stepped out of what had apparently been a coffin, something he means to ask about when they get to wherever they were going, the older one had introduced itself and its title as caretaker of the minion hordes, and of its master, the Overlord.

At the start of their little sojourn, Gnarl had mentioned that the Overlord was a title for those that would lead evil in rule over the world. And was the master of multitudes of minion hordes, the Overlord's constant army, servants, and means toward whatever end he sought to procure. Four types, browns, like themselves, were the mainstay of an Overlord's army, the fighters. Tough brutes, with rarely any brains between the lot of them, but adept fighters nonetheless, and despite their small stature, as strong as any normal human being. The others types, held special abilities, reds were fire beings, as such able to craft magical fire from some unknown mechanism, or at least, unknown to Gnarl and Quaver. The greens were the hunters, their supposed lack of hygiene allowed them to blend with most cover of nature, and when set to guard, could utilize a natural ability to blend into the background of wherever they are stationed.

Finally the blues, these minions are the magic users of the lot. Virtually immune to any form of pure magic, and especially adept at handling magical creatures. The blues also have two unique features about them, the first is that for some reason, either due to their magic, or some unspecified innate ability, they could not only enter water, but could breath underwater, as well as swim, unlike the other three which can't even touch water, much less swim in it. When he asked why, both Gnarl and Quaver looked away in silence, but didn't bother to answer him. He resolved to ask about the reason at a later time. They did however volunteer the other attribute of the blue minions. That due to their magical nature, blues had the ability to resurrect fallen minions that they are nearby, or directed to.

In all, it was a lot to take in, much less on faith. Here he was, supposedly freshly risen from the dead, and he was going to be the leader of not just these four minion hordes, but of all evil in the world. A world, that if what that voice said was true, was more evil now than at any time in its past. Which left him feeling uneasy. Not that the world being evil was necessarily a bad thing, but that he knew that the world didn't use to be like this, yet having no memory of who he was, of what his life was like before he had 'died,' or why it was wrong that evil was running around, rampant and uncontrolled. It was only then that he realized, that the voice that had narrated the story of the state of the world had been different than that of the two walking in front of him. And though Gnarl had attributed Quaver as the story teller, Quaver's voice was obviously not a deep throated, gravelly, rumbling tone.

Once more he opens his mouth to try and speak. This time, instead of the hoarse whisper that was all he could manage down in the tomb, a slightly stronger, and more grave sounding voice emerged. "Gnarl." The older minion turned its head and shoulders to look toward him, "Yes my lord?"

"When I was… waking up. I heard someone speaking about the state of affairs the world is in. Yet, there was only the two of you down there. Who was it that was speaking to me when I was still in the coffin?" The older minion smiled that toothless smile of his "Why, it was Quaver of course my lord." Confused, he looked at Quaver looking all proud and giddy. "How?" With this question, Quaver slumped, looking defeated. Gnarl chuckled softly, and answered the question, "Simple my lord, his prop has a little gizmo that our head smith made for Quaver some time ago. It is able to make Quaver's voice sound much more intimidating than it really is. But, instead of using it to be fearsome, ol' Quaver simply uses it to add a dramatic flair to some of his musings. It's one of the few things about his behavior that I can tolerate." His response was to lift one of his eyebrows in a show of confusion. "Oh, nothing really my lord, I annoy him, he annoys me, we just sometimes pass the time annoying each other in turn. Oh, the pranks I'd used to pull on him when I was younger… now, he's the one pulling them on me." With this last bit Gnarl looks with wide, menacing eyes toward Quaver, who's only response was to simply stick out his tongue. When Quaver did so, he could see that the tongue had been cut, split, and torn repeatedly, presumably from past times that he had stuck out his tongue. With this display, he could only think of one response. "Ah."

And so they returned to their silent pace, trudging forward in the seemingly endless hall. But, without warning, they had come to the exit of the hall, and now stood in a vast underground cavern. There was barely any light at all down here, and what little there was came from softly glowing rocks way down at the bottom of the cave. Gnarl stepped forward a few feet, and turned toward him, and with an apparent effort flourished while announcing, "This! Is the Neitherworld, the place from where your evil dominion of this world shall spread." Letting down his arms, Gnarl turned slightly and pointed to what at first appeared to be a large rock jutting down from the ceiling of the cavern, "And that, is your evil lair, Overlord."

Looking at the big rock, he could now see cave openings here and there within it. "What? That beat up piece of shit is to be my new evil lair?" Gnarl visibly flinched at the description, "I know, I know, it doesn't look like much now, but that sort of thing happens when self proclaimed heroes come storming in to end the reign of an Overlord. And in the process looted or destroyed anything they thought was of value, or useful. Come, come, we've still yet a ways to go to get there. Maybe when you see it up close you won't mind it so much." With this Gnarl began his way along a rock covered ledge leading around the wall as far as the eye could see in the darkness of the cavern. Quaver following quickly after. Seeing nowhere else to go, he followed the both of them. Thankfully the ledge was wide enough that he didn't have to press himself to the wall to pass.

And so they traveled, ever further along the ledge, occasionally it would either narrow, or widen. At the wider spots, Gnarl would find a rock tall enough to sit on, and catch his breath before getting up and continuing on. He hadn't really noticed it till he looked back at one of these stops, but the ledge was actually slopping upwards. He could just make out where they started from below him and a slight bit away from them. And while he knew that they had been walking for some time, it didn't occur to him that they could have already circled the cavern, as big as it was. Growing annoyed, he contemplated the issue of sounding like a child and asking if they were there yet, when Quaver let out a whoop, and suddenly sprinted forward. In the short distance ahead, he could see a dinky wood bridge spanning the gap between the ledge and the ceiling rock.

Amazingly, the rock was much closer now than when they had started below. And as such the bridge didn't cross so much a chasm, as much as a crevice in the rock face. He heard Gnarl sigh, and mutter something to himself. He felt he could guess what Gnarl was saying, and as such didn't indulge his curiosity, "You doing okay old man?" He politely asks. Gnarl, simply looked up at him, and blinked. "I'm no spring chicken, as the saying goes, but I'd appreciate it if you didn't confuse me for your kind sire." He looked back at Gnarl as Gnarl continued to look up at him, "What then? You want that I should call you old guy?" Gnarl blinked again, then started to snorted, trying to suppress his laughter. After a few moments of this, Gnarl took a deep breath and let it out in a slow sigh, with a wave of his hand Gnarl mentions for him to follow.

The wood bridge seemed sturdy, no rotten planks. Quaver was obviously happy to be back in this giant rock, as he cart wheeled, and jumped about the open grounds of the lair. Gnarl looked behind him every now and again to make sure the overlord was still following. He led him to a large opened spot, with a great hole dug into the rock. Standing at the edge, Gnarl spoke again. "This sire, is the minion barracks. Or rather, it served as the minion barracks when they still lived here. At these four locations," Gnarl paused to point at the big hole, and three other corners, similarly empty. "Both, once held the common grounds of the minion hives, and will do so once more when they return."

Feeling confused, he spoke up interrupting Gnarl, "Wait, I understand that the greens, reds, and blues, always left the lair whenever an Overlord is defeated. But what happened to the browns?" Gnarl let out a larger sigh, "Yes, well, this time, those filthy 'heroes' busted up something that was rather important." Looking over the edge, he beckoned the overlord over, when he had walked up to the edge and looked down, all he saw was solid rock, and something that seemed to be sticking out of it. "They went and broke the heart of darkness sire. Without this source of energy, this place, that was once the greatest concentrated spot of evil energy left to exist, lost all of the concentrated evil it held. Oh, if only you could have seen it when it was full of malice, and deceit. The sheer force of evil inside the heart turned all the rock below into lava, and kept this place warm, and lit.

Now, without it, the lair grows colder with each passing year. And without the heart, it could no longer sustain the minion hives. So all but a few of us, left." Looking at the broken stump of… something, his attention was brought back when Gnarl mentioned others. "There are more?" From behind him a deep, bubbling sounding voice, spoke, "Yes sire. There are still some of us here left. Aside from myself, chief Gnarl, and your bumbling fool of a jester." At which time a distance whoop was heard, "The smith, and five other browns remain." Looking at the source of the voice, he was surprised to find a blue minion, wearing some sort of ceremonial cloth draping over its shoulder. Though clearly not young, it also clearly wasn't as old as Gnarl. Turning his head in the direction of Gnarl but keeping his eyes locked with the new minion, he posed the question, "Gnarl?"

"Yes, sire, how rude of me. This is Mortis. Our resident blues leader. For some reason, he's the only blue that stays behind whenever they leave, but at least it improves the company to keep. Quaver isn't exactly… the best conversational partner." Finally breaking eye contact he looks at Gnarl and asks him, "Did any from the other tribes stay behind as well?" Before Gnarl could answer, the blue minion identified as Mortis speaks up, "No." And offered no explanation. Looking back to Gnarl with a raised eyebrow, and a questioning gaze, Gnarl responds, "Well, as Mortis says, no members of the red or green minions stayed behind. But, as your personal servants, myself, Mortis, Quaver," Gnarl shutters as he says the name, "and your smith Gibblet, we stayed behind. The other five browns were ones that Mortis raised from the river of the dead once we were able to collect the necessary life force to bring them back. They're not all that strong or experienced, but they'll suffice, for now.

Yet, all of that matters not, nor does gathering more life force. There is only enough evil energy left here for the nine of us, plus one more. We're, uh, we're stilling looking for him in the river." Preplexed, about the mention of a river, and browns in the same sentence, he asks a single word, "River?" Gnarl blinks, then reacts as the question registers, "Oh, yes, yes, you never worked with it before. Mortis, as the leader of the blues, is afforded certain powers. From any source of flowing water, he can locate any fallen minion, well recently fallen minion, and for an exchange of equivalent life force, resurrect the minion from the dead. Unlike regular blues, whom must retrieve a fallen minion before the magic holding them together dissipates to revive them. Mortis can bring back the minions that couldn't be brought back before they disappeared." Not sure he really understood that, he only nods and replies with a simple "Oh."

Feeling though that he forgot something, he looks back over the edge at the broken thing. And voices his question, "So how do we get back the evil energy, and the minions?" Once more Mortis speaks up, "Simple really, you must build a new heart, without it this place cannot contain the essence of evil needed to recharge the minion hives." Turning to look at Mortis, he poses the obvious question, "And how do I do that?" Neither answered, so he looks between the two of them for several moments, before getting irritated, "Well?" Speaking again, Mortis answers with an unwanted answer, "We do not know." Gnarl picks up where Mortis left off. "You see sire, the heart of darkness is an old, old, old, arcane artifact. So old in fact, that most if not all have forgotten how to make it." He frowns at this news, but Gnarl continues, "But not all is lost my lord. There may still be one person that knows how. But you'll have to go seek their help."

Wanting to get started, he asks, "Who?" Gnarl, seeming to flinch again, less noticeable than before, but there, "You'll have to ask… the priest of the… of the… the…" nearly retching as he forces himself to spit out the name, "THE WHITE STAR!" With this, Quaver is heard yelling out just before falling hard, causing the overlord to look over to him. Quaver was staring in their direction with a look of disbelief. And without warning, screams hysterically, "THE WHITE STAR!" before passing out. Mortis even, with the seemingly forever stoic face seemed rather sick at the mentioning of this name. Once more curious, the overlord asks the obvious question? "So, what is this white star?" The mere mention of the name seemed to make Gnarl queasy. And with much venom in his voice Gnarl responds, "Only the purest source of good left in the world!"

* * *

Apparently without the Neitherworld's heart, things like going from one level to another was much harder. The five brown minions that were pulled from death had been working for sometime digging through the stone, cutting passage ways from the separate levels. The tunnels were rough, and a touch cramped. Even digging at twice the height of a lone minion, the tunnels were low ceilinged, causing him to hunch over as he slowly descended to what Gnarl referred as the Foundations of the lair. Which made no sense to him. As the rock hung upside down, wouldn't its 'foundations' be at the top? Regardless, they were slowly working their way down a slope, a warm waft crawling up in opposition, seemingly making it warmer as they went further down. Finally they broke through to a vast room. To one side there was a wooden ring circling a pit of softly glowing earth. The other side led to more of the level, a broken metal casket, with a warped rack hanging loosely from some… well something, he couldn't tell. A bit beyond that was some stairs that led up to a platform, seemingly to nowhere. Perhaps something that worked with this 'lift' Gnarl mentioned. Directly opposite of that was a path that led to a large bucket, and a roaring fire.

Though he could see no firewood, or other fuel, this fire burned with both intensity and purpose. Which he felt was odd to describe a fire as having a purpose, he always heard it, but never seen it. … Wait, did he just remember something? Try as he might, he couldn't place where this, this, memory(?) came from. "hooo. Overlord sire, are you with us. Overrrlorrrd." He was jarred back to the present, noticing Gnarl speaking to him, looking at Gnarl, and grimacing some, he nodded his head just slightly.

"Good, now as I was saying before you went to wherever you did, we weren't able to gather enough metal to forge you any decent armor. Nor a worthy helmet for the matter. But we were able to re-forge the command gauntlet that those vile heroes smashed to pieces." As Gnarl said this, another brown minion was handing him something. He'd been so preoccupied that he didn't even notice when this other minion showed up. But from the sturdy looking helm, eyewear, and the rough hammer hanging from a makeshift leather belt, he guessed this was the smith minion, Gib-let… was it? Gnarl turned around holding something akin to a bracer rather than a gauntlet. Gnarl frowned, "Hrm, I was expecting something more… substantial Giblet. How is our overlord supposed to be dominating if he isn't wearing something more fearsome, you know, something… not like this?" So it was pronounced G-iblet. The minion shrugged its shoulder with a grunting sound changing pitch to sound like a grunted 'I don't know' and then it spoke.

"Was all metal left after weapon and plate." Gnarl looked somewhat incredulous at the minion, "But we rounded up so much of the armors, did all that really not work to make something more substantial than this?" Giblet nodded their head, "metal was weak, most used to make stronger metal. Only enough to make weapon, plate, and Overlord's command." In Gnarl's dissatisfaction, he could see that Gnarl was also dejected, and it made the minion look even older than before. Somehow he actually felt bad for the old minion.

"Forget about it Gnarl, it's just another thing to add to the to do list once we get a proper power base up and running." Gnarl swung his head up to look him in the face, a mixture of horror and hurt in his eyes. Then lowered his head shaking it. "To think that evil is reduced to looking and acting the part of a goody two shoes hero." Somehow this description caused an ache in his chest, making him want to scream out in indignity, but he didn't, he couldn't place why, but it was only an impulse, something that didn't feel like him, now anyways. "Hrmph, you'll get over it. Like you said, we've got so many things to get done, and so much time has already passed, making it that much harder to do. And waiting around won't get it done. So how about we get started?"

The ascent back up and further on was somehow harder, not because of the chest plate he now wore, nor the simple sword at his waist, and certainly not the bracer with a glowing orange jewel embedded in it. If he had to name a reason it was that leaning forward going up, made his footing less sure, so it was also slower going. They had been all but crawling up this particular tunnel for some time now, Gnarl still leading the way, obviously still disheartened by his behavior back in the forge. He didn't know if Gnarl knew it or not, but when the old minion got depressed he sighed a lot. If Gnarl did it more regularly, he could probably of kept time to their pace. Smirking at this thought, even though there was a tinge of self chiding about making fun of another's discomfort. They just continued going up, and up, and up. At this point they actually came upon the other five minions. Apparently they had dug out a rest room when they were working to reach the throne level. All five were lounging in the nest like side 'room' if it could be called that. Gnarl merely gave them a passing glance. As he did, the five all stiffened when he looked in their direction, but the apprehension in them turned to confusion when Gnarl looked away.

He was able to connect that this wasn't like Gnarl at all. "Hold up." Gnarl stopped, turning around carefully in the narrow tunnel, his face somehow looking even sadder than before, and older. "Yes… sire." It wasn't even a question. "I take it that these minions have something they should be doing?"

Gnarl leaned forward somewhat to look into the rest area. "Meh. They could always be cleaning up, but," Gnarl lets out a sigh, "I suppose it doesn't matter." Growing determined at the old minion's depressed attitude, he points at one of the minions, "You! Come over here." The minion gulps and slowly crawls toward the new overlord. As soon as it was within reach, he strikes out his arm and grabs it by the neck and draws it nearer to him. With a grin, he begins, "You're going to go all the way down to the foundations, without stopping, and get Giblet. Tell him to start plans on turning these tunnels into proper stairwells." Extending his arm behind him, he drops the minion down, and points while stressing, "GO!" The minion, slowly at first, then faster, hurried down the tunnel. He could see Gnarl was surprised, pointing to another one, he felt something in him grow, he could just see his jewel starting to glow brighter. Not bothering to voice his command, he turned his hand and beckoned for the next minion to come forward, it tried to crawl slower than the first, quickly getting annoyed, he roughly gestured with his hand pointing in front of him, accompany it with a grunt, the minion quickly hurried up. Looking over to another he sharply cocked his head, and it scurried over. "You two are to look for and collect any scrap metal the lot of you didn't get the first time, and deliver it to Giblet until the tower is free of loose metal that isn't already in use. NOW!" The two jumped slightly then scampered off, edging around Gnarl, which was starting to smile as he watched them run along. Looking at the last two he spoke harshly, "You two! Here! Now!" They rushed over as fast as they could, one slipping several times trying to get there to not get a beating. Leaning his head to his side, smirking, "I should… make you two carry Gnarl the rest of the way up." The two look at Gnarl frightened, Gnarl just grinned with a look of malice back in his eyes. "But I get the impression that he'd think I was soft if I let you do that. So you two get to work clean up duty until we can get some more of your brothers back. No slacking either. Now go." With that he sharply cocked his head in the forward direction, and the last two also scampered off, and around Gnarl, ahead of them both.

Gnarl was already looking younger, and more happy. "Oh, and here I thought that you didn't have any evil in you at all. Not fully evil, but at least it's a promising start. Well then Overlord, shall we get to the throne room and plan your first step toward you eventual domination of evil over the world?" Not waiting for an answer Gnarl turned around and starting moving up the tunnel, at a quicker pace even. He just smirked, at least he got the old minion out of its funk, and with any luck the minions he ordered to work will make some progress with things while he was away.

* * *

Hmph. Maybe it was a bit naïve to think it'd be that easy to just jump into the whole world domination thing. Just remembering his thoughts not but a day ago when he gave those five minions their orders. The throne room was in very bad disrepair, so much so that Gnarl insisted he keep to the cover of the halls around the open parlor, or what would have been the open parlor. So much of the ceiling had somehow been dislodged and now laid strewn out over what remained of the floor. And some sort of metal gate in the center had been rent horribly inwards with a large pillar laying across it. About the only piece of the ceiling left above was some sort of broken device centered over the misshapen metallic gateway. Most of the halls and stairways however seemed to remain whole or less damaged. When he was shown what would serve as his quarters, he was almost in disbelief. After everything else, only the private chambers looked to remain untouched. Pilfered of any valuables, yes, but largely unharmed. Statues where left intact, and even the bathing area still functioned, though obviously the water would be cold due to a lack of heat from molten rocks. In fact the only thing that was destroyed was an alcove that Gnarl mentioned once housed the last Overlord's magical spells.

Gnarl had mentioned on several occasions now that there had been overlords before he had been raised. But remained oddly silent on the subject when asked about them, and when pressed would try to opt out by saying something about the past being irrelevant concerning those that came before, and only what mattered was how he would come to rule the world. Heh, rule the world. Somehow it didn't sound all that insane, or at least didn't sound so impossible that it couldn't be done. Yet he often found himself wondering, did he really want to rule over an entire world? Of so many people? Surely this would require help. And if he had to rely on others to help him maintain control, this would lead to betrayal against an overlord, again. Something that he concluded could possibly be the only reason that at least the last, if not several or all overlords fell to. Meaning that if he was to "rule the world" he'd have to find some way to control, not the people, but the more dastardly element; but how?

All he had to go on was the old, worn world map that Gnarl had fetched from what remained of the lair's reference materials. Something that obviously the 'heroes,' or looters after the fact found to be of no interest, or at least thought to useless. It seemed that Gnarl wasn't kidding when he mentioned that anything of value was either looted or destroyed. Apparently though, none of the looters or destroyers thought that books like "Evil Cooking, cooking for your evil master" or "Warriors' Homes and Fighting; Collecter's edition" were worth looting or destroying. But frankly, he kinda agreed. Though it turned out not everything that wasn't destroyed or taken was entirely useless. For example, there was at least a copy of basic swordsman techniques left in the discarded pile, he had tried out a few of the moves in it this morning… or at least he thought it was morning. It was hard to judge time down in the cavern. He had come to the conclusion that at some point, he'd have to order the minions to set up a practice room if he wanted to get better with the use of his weapon.

While practicing however, he did notice that of what muscle remained with him, in his death, that it seemed he was a hard worker in life. Somehow he recognized that his muscles weren't of repeated strength training exercises, but of hard labor. It didn't make the sword he had any less heavy, but he could tell that the sword would be even heavier if his muscles were made any other way. How he could tell he didn't know, but he knew it. This gave him pause once more. Yet something else that must have been from his past life. Memories, or instincts, vague impressions, were all that was left of whoever he used to be. Not even a name remained. Something else that bugged him, he didn't even have a name, just a title. It was something that he paid no attention to at first, but since he awoke today, had come back to haunt him more than once. Having been dead when Gnarl found him, he doubted that Gnarl either knew what his name was, or would tell him even if he did.

He shook his head from side to side; he was letting himself get distracted again, must have been something due to being newly raised from the dead. Another impression told him he didn't used to be like this. Refocusing his attention to the map that Gnarl had pulled out, he couldn't help but frown at the aged appearance of the hide skin map. When he had asked Gnarl about this, Gnarl replied that it was the most recent map left to them. That admittedly the territories may have changed since the commissioning of this particular map, but land marks would still be there, that the map wasn't 'that' old. Then corrected himself by mentioning that one or two of the land marks may have since been torn down by man for 'progress' a word he nearly spat out. All things considered, he wouldn't have pegged Gnarl for being a naturist. Though he suspected that if he accused Gnarl of this, the old minion would take great offense. Even as old as the map was, it was still detailed for being a map of the known world.

According to the map, they, the minions and himself, were nearly at the top of the world, underground. Nearby lands were of ice and snow. From there, there would be small islands south of them, and further on was the larger body of the main land. With several others dotting the ocean much bigger than simple islands, but not nearly as big as the main land. Each of these were their own little nations. And of course all the way at the bottom was more ice and snow. The largest of the lands, the main land, was called Greenvale.


	2. A Time And A Place

A TIME AND A PLACE

_Even the mightiest forces, bow eventually to a stronger one._

He walked slowly down the taller tunnel; it was rather amazing how quickly minions could work. But considering that minions didn't so much sleep as hibernate when they weren't in use, he guessed he shouldn't be so surprised. Though the tunnel was now tall enough that he didn't have to hunch to walk down it, it still was but a slope, and to add insult, it really was slippery. His first visit below the throne room in days, yet he could have sworn that it took less time to crawl up the tunnel when it was the way it was before. Maybe it was just an aspect of his boredom, after all he'd done read every bit of literature that was left, even the children's books that had been colored in, he suspected by minions that the previous Overlord took exception to. It was odd to find out that Overlords could be human in nature after all; it made the impression that he wasn't what an Overlord should be seem less pressing.

Needing to get out of the bed chambers, he felt like seeing what progress was being made on any extra armor or weapons. Finally he exited the passage way he decided to nickname the forever tunnel, into the foundations. One glance showed that it wasn't any better down here than it was before. Making his way over to the large furnace he looked around for the minion smith. At first he didn't see the minion, but as he approached the smelter the smithy walked around from behind it. Giblet looked up at him, regarding him for but an instant before looking back to the blaze beneath the large pot like structure. Clearing his throat to get the minion's attention again, he spoke up. "Giblet. Have you made any progress with the metals the others gathered?"

Looking back once more to the overlord, Giblet spoke in his broken way. "Shield almost ready." Raising his eyebrow he asked the minion, "They were only able to find enough to make a shield?" The smithy minion simply nodded as he turned his attention back to the smelter. Sighing to himself, he left the minion to its task. Setting about a task himself of climbing back up the so called forever tunnel. He slowly made his way up to the barracks. Once there he moved to the large open plaza like center looking for Gnarl or Mortis. He spotted Mortis peering into a running stream of water over an edge not far from him. Moving over to the blue minion, he took a moment to look into the stream. What he saw actually surprised him. Minions. Many of them, of all colors, even those other than the four. Floating in the water, not flowing with the stream, in fact moving in opposition to the flow, albeit slowly. Mortis apparently noticed his reaction for he spoke plainly.

"These are the souls of minions past, and creatures magical alike. This is but a window into the river of magic's life that was given." He turned to look at the blue minion, only to see the minion was still peering into the image of minions floating by beneath them. "So this river doesn't just bear the life force of dead minions of the Overlords?" Mortis only slightly altered his head's position to afford him a line of sight to him. "Heh." Mortis seemed to smile, though bared no teeth. "Yes, and no. All are minions of some form or another. For all within this river were given life by great magic, their very existence, all due to magic. But no creature made purely of magic has life force, created with it yes, but do not have any of their own." He finished his explanation with a shake of his head slightly from side to side. Then went back to peering intently into the water. This actually made some sense to him. It partially explained to him how they were able to resurrect fallen minions. Simply replace the life force that held a minion together, and the magic would reform into the minion. Well, maybe not simply… but still the same effect.

"I see." He stated after deep thought. Taking a deep sigh, he stood there thinking to himself. Once the shield piece was ready, there wasn't really anything else to wait around for, and he could direct the minions to open the cave entrance to the surface so that he could begin his quest in earnest. But, even though he felt like he was improving with the basic sword techniques covered in the book he was reading from, he also felt like he wasn't fully ready to take the world by storm. No doubt having something to do with not having a readily available army, but also from having a lack of choices when he would likely get into a fight. Knowing that past overlords had access to magic, he felt that he should at least know the basics of some… but could find nothing on such things in what was left in the literature left behind to rot.

Taking a slow breath, he looked to the blue minion once more, which he found had since stopped looking into the running waters; that also no longer showed any images of minions within. Mortis had taken to sitting on the jut of rock that raised above the rest of the floor, looking patently at him. Turning to face the blue minion fully he spoke up. "Overlords of the past had command of powerful spells, and an assortment of magical abilities. Whereas I do not. Yet. I was hoping that you could perhaps teach me something about magic." With that he waited for the blue minion to respond. "I see. My apologies my lord, but I cannot." He could feel himself wanting to lash out, but held it in check. "Why not?" He asked simply. "The overlords required the powers afforded them by darkness to wield magic, and even then simply took the spells of other, more accomplished mages and sorcerers." He had not considered this possibility. Yet another thing that he would be starting out behind past overlords with.

With a heavy sigh, he could only respond with one comment. "Fantastic." With the briefest of nods toward Mortis, he slowly stalked away. No army, no memory, no magic. And they expected him to lead all of evil throughout the world. This was starting to get infuriating. Why was it that evil always seems to have everything stacked against them when they start out? Once things got going, evil people just seemed to roll right over most anything in their path… but it was always hard for them to _get_ going to begin with. It seems, his experience was no exception. But at least he had an idea of how to start, fix the dark heart of the Nether world, then find the minions. From there, it was just a matter of making others fall in line. This however, required information; that supposedly only a priest of one of the last sources of good in the world would likely know. Somewhere, all the way across the ocean on the main land of Greenvale. He definitely felt frustrated, and more things just kept adding on to his problems. Yep, definitely frustrated. Gnarl. He should find that old minion and see what other information he could get out of the coy old codger. Looking at the other tunnel leading back to the throne room, he quickly entered and began his search for the old coot.

* * *

Coming out of the upper section of his 'forever tunnel' he surveyed the throne room trying to spot the old minion. The two that he had set to cleaning the tower had managed to make some progress with the throne room, the smaller and medium sized rocks had been cleared from the room's floor, though the heavier, bigger rocks, and the pillar that laid across the spiked pit in the center was still there. Upon closer inspection he noticed that the pillar didn't so much cross the pit as lay within down across to the other side of the pit, and broken at where it reached the top. Walking around the remaining rubble he studied the throne room more closely, the throne itself looked as though it was shattered, yet it still held together. Definitely wouldn't be sitting in it anytime soon, at least not till it was repaired or replaced. Likely to be the latter. Apparently lava had flowed through here at one point, as there was some softly glowing earth behind the broken throne. The arches that framed the side passages were all but standing. Alcoves were filled with large stones. And to either side of the landing the throne sat upon were two pillars of totem statues.

Somehow he could sense magic that used to be in them. Globes that were the center pieces of these statuettes were shattered completely, leaving some fluid that dried upon them. The visage of whatever these pieces were made to resemble was also chipped away when their globes were broken. Reaching, he touched the surface of one of the statuettes. Nothing. He didn't really know why, but for some reason he was expecting something, a reaction, a feeling… something. "Not much to look at now, are they?" The old voice asked, sounding somewhat nostalgic. "Not anymore anyways." He responded as he pulled his hand back, and turned to face the old minion. He knew better than to try and asked where he had been, instead he started a different line of questioning.

"Giblet says that he's about finished with the shield," Gnarl lightly flinched at the mention of such equipment. "How long will it take the minions to open the passage out?" The old creature looked at him, and began to tap at his chin, "Hmm, I should say a day at most, its mostly just clutter, and most of the bigger rubble should be possible to push aside with the five of them. Should I get them started sire?" Looking to him in earnest, he responded back to the creature, "They can start tomorrow. Right now, the tunnel needs work, after that, this room needs to be finished clearing. But aside from that, the nights seem to be getting colder, so I assume that winter is setting in, no?" Gnarl's eyes widened with realization. "Oh my, I can't believe I lost track of the seasons so carelessly. Yes, the winter will be setting in, in short order. We will need firewood this winter, even the heat in the foundations would not be enough to keep the cold of northern winters at bay."

He bobbed his head in agreement "Yes, once they clear the way, they will need to gather any large wood they can find in the immediate area. How are the browns at hunting?" Gnarl simply blinked. "Err, to be honest terrible sire. They're more the kind to rush in, in a noisy racket and club anything that moves. There's hardly a brown that knows the usefulness of being quiet. The few who do, usually have more intelligence than the rest. Though the degree by which they are varies." He raises his hand to stop Gnarl from rambling, "I get it, noisy ones aren't smart, quiet ones more brains than the noisy ones." Gnarl smirked, 'Quite so." He lets out a sigh, "So, yet another thing that needs doing. Teaching these browns how to hunt so the rest of you can survive while I'm gone."

Gnarl just offered a half guilty smile, "It's not so bad, a minion isn't as frail as a human against things like the cold. Though, it is true that we do have our limits. I'm sure we would do fine without someone to provide for us while you're away." He just stared at Gnarl, until Gnarl's smile slowly slid from his face. "Maybe." Crossing his arms, he started with a grunt, "I don't know how long I'll be gone, and without supplies, it may very well be enough to even kill a minion without so much as a strike of a weapon." Gnarl just lowered his head, and suddenly developed a keen interest in the floor by his feet. Sighing, Gnarl spoke in a hushed tone, "Yes sire… it might."

* * *

The next morning Giblet had relayed information that the finishing touches of the shield would be completed by day's end. With that, he had learned how to summon the five roaming browns to him with some guidance from Gnarl. Somehow the call was familiar to him, an almost ethereal horn sounding from nowhere, and everywhere at the same time. He noticed the jewel in his bracer glow as he used it to sound the call, and vaguely recalled seeing it do that before. But pushed thoughts of glowing rocks aside for giving the five young browns orders to clear the passage leading out. This turned out to be more involved than he expected. Yet, recalling the words of the older minion just the last evening, he guessed that it shouldn't have really surprised him. But this proved to be an opportunity for Gnarl to teach him about target focusing, and non-verbal go-to commands.

Focusing on the occasional larger boulders before the piled cave in proper, he could sense the number of minions it would take to push them over edges or just out of the way. Thankfully, only one of the browns had to be reminded, often, that it couldn't simply bash a large rock, or small boulders out of the way. The others would quickly snicker at the one brown whenever Gnarl, or himself had to remind the youngling. Gnarl would always whip around and snarl at the others before adding a growling command for them to get back to work. Which, after a startled yelp, would quickly go back to pushing their load somewhere where it would no longer obstruct the entrance way. After the some odd hundredth time that this minion did that, he called it to him, and bent to one knee. Even bent at the knee, he was still a full torso height above the minion. Looking down, bracing himself on the one knee still upright, he gave attempt at teaching the minion the lesson.

"Why do you keep trying to smash the rock when you're asked to push it?" The minion just looked at him, no sign that it understood what it was being asked. "Rocks aren't easy to break, even with proper tools. Let alone with bare hands." Again, the minion blinked. No response. He sighed, and thought about it a moment. Spotting a pebble by the minion's foot, an idea formed, leaning over, he plucked it from the glazed ice-like snow floor of the cavern. Before straightening back up, he grasped one of the minion's hands. Placing the pebble in the minion's open hand, he said, "Here, squeeze this pebble, as hard as you can." The minion looked at the pebble at first, then closed its hand and squeezed. And squeezed. When it wasn't able to break it with one hand, it placed its closed fist that held the pebble within, into the palm of his other hand, and squeezed as hard as it could with both. Finally, after actually turning a shade darker from the effort, it stopped trying to squeeze the pebble. Opening its hand, it looked at the stone. Then finally spoke, "Thingie no smash."

"No, it didn't. The rock is strong. It takes a lot more strength to break it. But…" As he paused, he reached his hand into the open palm of the minion, and with one finger flipped it over. "It can be moved." The minion blinked at this, and using its own free hand, flipped it again. Its eyes grew wide at seeing it move, and did it again, and again until the pebble flipped out of its hand. It starred at the pebble where it landed for a moment, then looked up at him with wide eyes that displayed surprise in them. Merely nodding, he pointed at the rock that it was trying to smash before, the minion following the direction of the finger looked back to the same rock. "That too can be moved, it might take more than a finger to do it, but just like the smaller one, it too will move when it is pushed. Now, go and move it out of the way." The minion then hurried back over to the rock, and was about ready to try smashing it again when it stopped its hands from coming down. Slowly lowered them, then pushed on the rock instead. To his humor, he saw it looking shocked as the rock slowly move away, then with something akin to delight started pushing with great zeal, and moved the rock easily.

Gnarl came up to his side and hrmphed loudly. "About time it learned. I was thinking we might have needed to kill it, and raise another one with something more resembling a brain." Raising his eyebrow, and a half smirk, he asked Gnarl, "What would that accomplish but wasting life force? Besides, it seems to learn easily enough. It just needed to be demonstrated that a rock couldn't be pulverized into moving out of the way. Though, I would agree that this one might take more effort to teach" Looking back at the minion in question he saw it lightly dance with glee having pushed a rock out of the way, and rushing back to the piled cave in to push another one. Again, Gnarl just hrmphed loudly, and mumbled about getting to old to teach upstart minions how to think. Smiling somewhat, he watched on as the **five** minions now were slowly making progress clearing the rubble out of the way.

* * *

For the first time since he had come back to life, he could see sunlight. The minions had spent several hours slowly digging out the smaller rocks, or pushing some of the larger ones to the side. Enough of the rocks had been cleared now that a minion sized gap broke through at the top of the pile, and through that, the sun was shinning into the cavern. The icy walls, and full ice stalagmites reflecting the orange and yellow hues around the inner cavern like the image one might see in some oil painting. Joining the torch light used before to see on this side, this far toward the previously enclosed mouth of the cave, gave a view of warmth, even if one couldn't feel it. He looked out of the opening, unawares of the minion's 'ooh's' and 'Aw's.' His revelry in the light was cut short though as Gnarl briskly commanded the minions to 'Get back to work you lazy lounging piles of dragon dung puss.' Briefly causing him to contemplate how dragon shit could have puss.

Pushing the thought out of mind he spoke to Gnarl in a somewhat subdued voice, as he looked back to the opening. "They were probably just trying to figure out what the pretty lights were. I doubt any of them has seen the sun before today." Gnarl 'hmm'ed' in response before adding, "Ignorance of the sun hardly excuses them from doing their job. You ordered them to clear a passage before the day came to an end, and that won't get done just standing around and gaping at 'the pretty lights.' Bah. Sun light. The only worthwhile sun light is the desert sunlight. Pouring endless waves of torturous heat on the hapless soul foolish enough to brave the sands unprepared. Sun light…" Gnarl's voice almost visible dripped with his displeasure of the sun's light that gave a warming sensation here in the cold north when it shone on one's person. "Why Gnarl… If I didn't know better, I would think you didn't like the sun." He joked. Gnarl just raised an eyebrow while staring at him with a look that just conveyed 'unimpressed.' Then snarled at the minions that could be heard snickering at his joke. The snickering broke off immediately once Gnarl snarled. And yet again, Gnarl just 'hrmph'ed' loudly, before trudging further back into the cavern.

Leaving the minions to their task, he followed Gnarl farther into the cave till they reached a wide plateau amidst the larger, openly spacious cavern. Once there Gnarl found a jutting of ice to sit upon, and heaved a long, soul reaching sigh. "Come on, it isn't like I was saying that you actually liked the warmth of the sun light." Gnarl simply raised his head, as if to look at him, but kept his eyes firmly rooted to the floor of the plateau, and let out a half hearted 'hmm?' Pitching his own eye brows in a look of confusion, and frown forming on his features he added, "All right old timer, what's bothering you this time." It wasn't a question, or an order. But it broke Gnarl's gaze from the floor. With another, lesser sigh, Gnarl spoke up. "It's… just… you don't really seem evil. But you honestly try to be condescending of others. Yet you still care for them. An Overlord is many things… Caring isn't one of them." As Gnarl paused, I couldn't help but be confused. So what if I cared for those under me. It just meant I was willing to joke around with, and spend time helping them. Gnarl continued, "Even the most benevolent of Overlords past was never this… this… nice." Gnarl had settled on one of the few words about good that he didn't dry heave at. That couldn't be a good sign.

"I know that without the Dark Heart, that there isn't anything to course evil through your veins, but still… I would of thought that for someone that the eye chose, you'd be more… well… evil." Now I was lost… "The eye?" I asked. Once more Gnarl answered with a 'hrm?' before answering. "Oh, sorry, I sometimes forget that most Overlords never know about the eye. Well, some time, long ago… even before I was born to the brown hive, an Overlord that was versed in magic apparently used the Heart of Darkness to forge an item that could detect evil within one's soul. Technically it's called The Eye of the Heart. But we've mostly just called it the eye. I don't know exactly how it works, but it's supposed to be able to peer into a lingering soul, and detect an evil, or hatred left behind. The darker the glow, the more evil. The brighter the red, the more hateful. It's even been known to shine green for the greedy, and blue for those whom would force the world to share their despair. My predecessor learned not to raise any blue or green one's… They often work up to much opposition before having gained enough minions to properly defend themselves with.

But yours… we were surprised when the eye started to react within the lair to start with… and led us straight to you. The brightest red I'd ever seen it shine. Far more even than the Lord Gromgard." I interrupted with a question, "Lord Gromgard?" Gnarl stopped, starred right at me for a minute, then blinked several times. "Yes, well, brighter even than his… so I was certain you'd make a great Overlord. Only, I've not seen you once get angry, or truly upset, about anything. So… I wonder if maybe the eye was wrong… or if we were. …" As usual, Gnarl ignored my question with barely so much as pause to blink. As frustrating as that was, Gnarl's frustration seemed to stem from doubt, from both him, and the eye. What could he say, 'sorry, just not feeling like ripping people or minions apart today… we'll see about tomorrow." Vowing that when he could press the old minion on the matter, he'd get the old fogey to tell him everything about the Overlords of the past. Right now though, Gnarl wasn't about to share anything about past Overlords… and his source was concern about not having the right person for the job. "So, let's see this eye, and see if it still says that about me."

Gnarl once again looked blankly at him for a minute before responding, "That's just it… you're wearing it." Pointing to my bracer as he said that. Looking down, I understand immediately he was referring to the jewel lodged into the gauntlet wanna be. And as it was want to do, it didn't do anything. Just sitting there, darkened, and dull. "The command stone? It, is the eye of the heart?" Gnarl nodded, "Yes, after the heart was made, the Overlord who made it discovered it could relay he's orders to nearby minions. Simple orders, mind you… but his orders nonetheless. And for every Overlord, it would shine their color. It doesn't even do that for you." I hold my forearm up that had the bracer fastened to it, and starred at the lump of rock like material that was embedded into the armlet. "So is that why it glows when I give the other minions commands?" Though I wasn't watching I hear a startled grunt, and a loud pop before some muttered curses, and then the old minion asks with some surprise in his voice, "It… it glows when you give the minions commands!" Lowering my arm I stare back at him, "Yeah, it glows a bright orange when I give them commands."

"Orange? But… that color's for envy. Why would… " Gnarl stops mid sentence as utter realization seems to hit him. "No… it can't be… did I…. did I mistake orange for… red?" Looking up at me, I see something I'd hadn't seen on his face before, fear. "I've gone blind!"

* * *

AN: Well, ain't that a doozy of a writer's block. Took me a whole year just to cobble together this much. IF ANY OF YOU WOULD LIKE TO SEE THIS PROGRESS FASTER, then don't be shy, drop me a line, discuss some things you found interesting, things you didn't... you know, anything that can help me think of anything to get this story going. I've also, recently added a message board, here on so any registered user can pitch in and offer up anything, or talk about what they'd like to see. I'll try to check it regularly.

Hopefully, I'll get some interested people involved, which hopefully will keep me feeling creative enough to crank out the next chapter in hopefully less time.


	3. The Long Road

THE LONG ROAD

_Even the longest journey starts with but a single step_

How does one even respond to someone freaking out like that? What could one say? '_So sorry to hear that old bean, but on the bright side, you haven't actually lost your sight, you're just losing your ability to discern different colors. It's called getting old._' We just ended up starring at each other, Gnarl's face a mixture between fear, and guilt; mine I'm sure looked funny somewhere between confusion, and amusement. I don't know how long we just stared at each other. Long enough that Mortis had come from the minion's barracks to check on us though. We didn't even notice him walking up, nor that he was there until he cleared his throat. I don't know if that sound is something that any blue would make when they clear their throat, but it was definitely strange. Between his constantly bubbly voice and the gravelly tone he speaks in, I really don't know how to describe it.

Turning toward the intruder, Mortis took us in, and without so much as raising an eyebrow… or whatever might pass for an eyebrow, and a completely straight face, asks us if anything was wrong. Apparently the time spent in a starring contest gave Gnarl time to think, because instead of repeating what he'd exclaimed to me, he just hung his head, and shook it 'no' from where it hanged. For some reason I felt the need to lighten the mood, and responded with, "Not much, just Gnarl here finally getting the point. That he's gotten old." Gnarl actually seemed to flinch at my words. So, not the most tactful way to say it. Mortis haltingly nodded his head once, and regarded Gnarl. And without even a word, placed his hand along Gnarl's back and led the old minion away. I just stood there and watched them walk away, slowly.

After they finally turned a corner out of sight, I let off a sigh of my own. Great, already down a minion army, no vessel to contain great evil, and no magic to help me get started, I can now also add a minion leader going through a mid-life crisis. Or, whatever qualifies as a mid life crisis for minions. Or would this be more like an end of life crisis? I mean, Gnarl is fairly old. Lightly shaking my head as though it would help me solve my problems, I head back to the other minions to see what sort of progress they might have made. Which wasn't really that much. Without someone to guide them, now that they had an opening, every time they moved some of the bracing rocks, more from the slowly growing opening would tumble down to take their place, sending the minions scattering from the falling stones. Letting out another sigh, I begin to help them navigate the hill side of stone to start removing from the top, rather than from the bottom. Which proves to be a daunting task in itself.

Finally, after some trail and error, I manage to guide them through clearing enough of the rockslide out of the way that a full grown man, namely myself, could climb and pass through without difficulty. And with such an opening I could see outside. Though I knew to expect frosty trees, and icy rocks, what I didn't expect was to find snow just the other side of the rock pile. Yeah, I remember Gnarl telling me that winter was coming, but why was there already snow? And in such thick blankets of it upon the ground. On top of that, the cave entrance seemed to be funneling the wind from the slope just the other side of the previously caved in rocks. Making it that much colder at the mouth. And if left open, that much colder in the cavern even further in.

I recall an expression like this… 'when it rains, it pours' and me without a 'hooded cloak.' Letting out a sigh, and shaking my head, I turn back into the cavern and carefully pick my way down the pile. Might as well see if Giblet's finished my shield. Cause first order of business is finding some way to cover that hole without blocking off the entrance. And fast, cause I can already feel the air in the cave entrance getting colder. It won't be long before it starts to suck what heat is left out of the already chilly cavern deeper in.

* * *

I still can't get used to going down to get to the forge. It just doesn't seem right, going down to get to a stalactite's foundation. Never mind the fact that somehow this forge which can just fit in the foyer of the main hall is somehow fit into the bottom end of the, admittedly huge, hanging rock formation. _Sigh_. If Gnarl gets to feeling better, I'll have to ask him about that too. Finally I emerge from the tunnel, I'll say this about minions, they work fast. The forever tunnel already has a few stair steps in it, mostly just at the steeper, or slicker points, but steps nonetheless.

I can already hear the sounds of hammer hitting metal, but… it's not from the forges. I don't have to look far, immediately to the right of the pit, where the Overlord's armory is supposed to be is none other than Giblet hammering away at the bent, and disfigured mechanism. I guess he's trying to get it back into shape… ugh… okay, I need to watch out for making bad puns, unintentional or not… that was just… bad. However, now that I think about it, why is Giblet trying to restore the armory, and not… hrm. Giblet must be one fast minion if he's already got my shield done, carved steps into the tunnel, and is now working on fixing the armory. But that still leaves the question of why he's fixing the armory.

Walking up to Giblet, I merely stand behind him, watching him. It's fascinating to say the least. It seems that Giblet works like he speaks, short, methodical, and to the point. He always checks his aim before he swings that hammer of his, scratch that, I didn't pay attention before, but that's more a sledge hammer than a simple bench hammer. Not overly big, and one not paying attention might indeed mistake it for a regular hammer, but nope, its obviously a heavy weighted head. Can't say I recognize the material for the handle though, not wood, doesn't look like bone… hmm.

It's only after I notice that Giblet has let the hammer sway to his side that I realize he's turned to me. Once again, I'm spacing out, great. Clearing my throat, I ask, "I take it that the shield is done?" Giblet merely nods, before he walks, instead of the scampering the others do, and retrieves a simple wood braced metal shield. Not big, maybe a forearm and a quarter wide, and round. He even went the extra mile and embroidered a three pronged crown into the front center. I'm guessing that's the unofficial Overlord insignia.

Placing my arm through the strap, and my hand over handle, I give it a few good strikes against the wall. A little scuffing, but otherwise undamaged. I can see why it took so long to make. It's craftsmanship would rival that of the old Empire's army smith. … Wait what! How would I know that? The shock must have shown on my face, as Giblet broke through my shock, asking, "Is not to your liking?" I turn to look at the brown smith, blink my eyes a few times before his question finally registers in my mind. Briefly I shake my head hard and quick, these distractions are getting to be annoying. "No, no, it's good. I was just wondering about an old memory that came out of nowhere." Giblet just blinked, then shrugged his shoulders and walked back toward the armory. Right, I was curious about why he was working on the armory.

"So, why are you trying to fix the armory now?" Giblet merely looked over his shoulder and replied "Master now has weapon, and shield. Will need place to keep them when master returns." As if it was the most obvious thing in the world, and turned back around before reaching the armory, grasping his hammer, and getting back to work. Again, I just blinked… ask an obvious question, get an obvious answer apparently. With a low chuckle, and a slow shake of my head, I once more tread the Forever tunnel to head back to the surface entrance.

* * *

Okay, I know that I need to head out and find something to cover that hole in the wall with, or the cavern will freeze badly this winter. But as I emerge from the Forever tunnel into the barracks, I spot Gnarl, and Mortis. I know that I should let Gnarl work through his problem first, but I kind of need to know where to look for the things I'd need to plug the hole. Besides, I am kind of curious as to how he's doing, he is supposed to be my advisor, and caretaker of what are supposed to be my minion hordes. And if he's not up to the job….

Well, I'll take care of that later, right now priority is keeping the cavern warm as possible this winter. With task in mind I make my way to Gnarl and Mortis. Gnarl is still looking rather depressed, and Mortis actually seems to have sympathy for the old minion. Fortunately for Gnarl, Quaver is no where to be found. I look to Mortis with an eyebrow raised. The blue minion just slightly moves his head back and forth, in small movements, small enough that I'd believe if I wasn't staring at him, I wouldn't have seen the movement. Dropping my head and exhaling a large breath in a huffing sigh, I move to approach the both of them anyways. The movement catches Gnarl's attention, but he doesn't turn to look at me, and Mortis ever so slightly raises his head to stare at me directly.

For a moment, my stern gaze softens to show remorse, before returning to its determined look. Mortis seemingly understands, again shaking his head up and down so little that if I wasn't looking I wouldn't of seen it. Already standing in front of the two, I consider my options. And there really is only one thing to say. "If you can't pull yourself together long enough to fulfill your duties, then what use are you to me. I get it, you've probably lived longer than most minions dare dream, seen the rise and fall of who knows how many Overlords. But the one thing you should be concerned about right now is that you have an Overlord that is in need of your advice. Even if you are no longer able to physically act in your task, as long as you can still speak, as long as you can still remember. You still serve your master." At first Gnarl openly flinched at my words. Visibly grew sadden at the mention of his long life; and genuinely seemed hurt when I mentioned needing his advice. Almost seemed to shrink back when I postulated him being unable to do anything physically. But after hearing the end of my speech seemed to start to think.

I could almost see the wheels turning in his head, as he started to understand what I had said. Started to realize that, even in his old age, and a failing body, he could be of service to his Overlord. Finally after several moments he took in a deep breath, held it, then exhaled it in a rush. Looking me straight in the eye, with something akin to a grin sparkling in them he declared, "You're right. I know more things than most minions can forget. And as long as there is an Overlord, I have a job to do. I don't have time to sit around moping about my age, come heaven or holy waters, I need to turn you into a proper Overlord. Starting with testing you to make sure the Underworld accepts you as the next Overlord."

Okay, not what I was expecting… "Testing? I thought I was already ordained as the next Overlord." Gnarl smiled, gums and all… have I mentioned how creepy that is? "Oh, you were just the nearest, and possibly best candidate, we could find. In order to be the Overlord, the Underworld must accept you first."


	4. What Begins

WHAT BEGINS

_Where does life start, where does it end, these are the answers we seek within._

Well, I didn't see this coming. Was just trying to get my advisor out of a funk and he turns around and tells me that I'm not actually the Overlord; yet. And wouldn't you know it, when I ask him what kind of test, he just tilts his head back and taps on his chin as if in thought but responds at the same time saying "You know that's a good question, normally we have enough minions to arrange for these sort of things. Bah, I guess I'll just know an opportunity when I see it." This of course leads me to asking if he was coming along, only to have him laughing long, and hard. … Long. And hard. Which I then point out that he wouldn't see what all I'd come across otherwise. That managed to quiet him down a little as he adopted a ponderous look while rubbing his chin in thought, "Yes, I suppose without the Heart's darkness to power the Neitherworld magic, I wouldn't be able to use the viewing pool in the throne room." He sags some and sighs loudly, "Guess I'll just have to dig out my old crystal ball." And with that hobbles off to wherever it is that, supposedly, he keeps such things.

And that, leads up to where I am now. Standing outside the cave entrance, and getting my first view of the Nordbergian wilderness… And by some quirk only a single minion at my side. The first thing I notice is that even though winter is about to set in, is that it is unseasonably warm for a polar land. Not warm enough to walk around in basic clothes mind you, but warm enough that the winter weather gear that the minions scrounged up for me is already making me sweaty. Taking a look back, to view the other minions standing at the opening they made, I notice what looks like sadness in two or three of the other's faces. But for the life of me, I can't figure out why if they want to come they weren't. This one made it down the other side with relative ease, so I don't see why they couldn't. Turning forward to move onward, I take notice of how the trees here are pines, and without any snow.

As I make my way down the trail, I suddenly hear a rustling like cloth being pulled away. Quickly alert, I stop, hand on the hilt of my sword, and looking for anything that might be moving to attack. Until I hear a blowing like sound as if wind were gushing into one's face. For a moment I think about how I would know that, but brush it off. Then of all things, I hear… knocking? "Testing, testing… is this thing working?" Scrunching up my face as I try to wrap my mind around it, and trying to ignore the silly feeling of talking to air, I ask, "Gnarl?"

"Ah, good, it still works, for a moment there I was afraid it wouldn't… some of my ingredients were older than I remembered. Although… now that I am using it… I really should have gone for a larger ball. This palm crystal is _so_ tiny. I can barely make anything out." While he's talking, I'm looking around, for some reason I guess I'm thinking I could see him too. "I actually can't remember when the last time I used this thing. Had an inch of dust covering it too." Then more quietly as though mumbling to himself, "Hrm, I should probably clean that storage out at some point… or make some of the younger minions." Finally settling on looking slightly up, while facing ahead, I clear my throat before saying anything, "Gnarl?"

"Hmm? Oh, yes, yes. Sorry, old habit." Silence, and then a sigh, "Anyways, so, here we are, the outer ranges of the Nordbergian Wilderness. Such a _peaceful_ place" He stresses peaceful with sarcasm, "All white, and, blech, fluffy. Nordberg is over the hillside, and through the woods. Last time any of us went out there, there were only wolves and hunters… and seals, lots, and lots of seals. Good for gathering life force, but not much else, except maybe angering a seal mother… hoo, hoo… when those fat, bloated, sea creatures get angry do watch out… they tend to flop around a lot, and if they catch you lying down, they can smother you real easy like. While crushing you under all that fat."

Before he can say anything more I clear my throat loudly. Making Gnarl respond with "Hmm?" When I'm certain that he isn't going to say anything else, I ask simply, "Anything else I might need to know?" There's quiet for a few moments before he responds. "Hmm, no, no I don't think there's anything else. Just wolves, hunters, and seals. Hrm… is my eyesight so bad I can't make out the snow, or is it not snowing?" I let out a light snort in a quiet exhale of breath. "No, it's not snowing. Which is strange, normally, this time of year, it should be coming down like a blanket over one's face." Again, something that I should have no way of knowing. ARGH! All these repressed memories is going to drive me insane. "True, true. Hrm, I wonder if… well I suppose we might find out if you continue on." Gnarl retorts stopping my mind from wondering. But making me curious. "Find out what?" Another pause before Gnarl answers, "Hehe, no sense in ruining the surprise, if I'm right that is."

Heaving a sigh, I shrug my shoulders and start moving on. It isn't long before I reach the bottom of the mountain side, apparently the cave entrance wasn't too far up, it just opened out over a cliff that dropped down for a long ways. I'm met with narrow paths that were raised above the water line, and just dry enough to walk over. I can see seal pups across the chest deep water lounging on a jutting rock. Barking at each other and playing. Gnarl makes a simple 'blech' when I look out to them. I can't help but smile at that. Moving on, and through a rough opening in the crevice of ice and rock, the pathway of snow and slush, starts to give out to hard packed dirt… which is odd, that it's hard packed, and not muddy. And soon enough trees start to line the beaten path.

After walking for a distance down the path, we come to a simple knoll that looked to have at one point contained some sort of barricade. Gnarl just sighs, if I didn't know better I'd swear it was a happy sigh too. To the right the path continues on, and to the left there is a clearing with broken lean-tos, rusting pots, and rotting posts. And a large fluff of matted fur; and not a second after I notice it I hear a sharp gasp… at first I thought it was Gnarl, but am surprised when the minion next to me starts vibrating in place excitedly.

It's quickly on all fours, but drops suddenly before it catches its' weight on its' other three legs. Making it look like it's about to charge leaning its' forward weight on the left front leg. Pulling its' lips back into a snarl it growls as threateningly as possible. And I'm inclined to let it be; but apparently my minion has other ideas. Before I can even blink to look in the other direction; my lone minion dashes from my side to the wolf like a bolt from a crossbow. Straight up to it without any hesitation, or fear. And before my eyes the growling, snarling wolf changes to a slightly whimpering canine that looks like the most pitiable animal you ever did see.

Before the minion it had lowered its head, and was laying back down. The minion just stroked it's fur, and whispered in its' ear to it. Slowly, I walked up to minion and wolf and kneeled before it, holding out my hand. It raised its' head to look at me before sniffing my hand. After a short sniff it apparently found something it like cause it licked at my palm and fingers greedily. With my other hand, I slowly stroked its' fur, and while doing that slowly pulled my wet hand away. Before wiping it on my backside. Carefully I move to its' injured side, and moved to examine it. But it apparently could still see me, cause it whipped its head around and started growling.

Quickly I raised both hands, palms out. The minion moved to the head and petting the wolf telling it "It okay, master not hurt you." Slowly I moved forward, and as gently as possible lifted the leg. The problem was immediately clear. "Damned hunters! Always setting traps, and harming innocent murderous wolves." Gnarl suddenly snaps, and startles me, nearly making me drop the wolf's leg that was still caught in the bear trap. Under my breath, but still loud enough to be heard I respond, "Not now Gnarl. Trying to help the _murderous_ wolf here, and you suddenly shouting isn't helping." Gnarl immediately follows with something of an apology, "Err… yeah, didn't mean to nearly get you mauled by an injured wolf that you're standing right next to."

I just shake my head slightly, with a smirk on my lips before returning my full attention to the trap. I quickly notice a chain dangling from it, and follow it to a stake good and deep in the ground. The wound where the trap dug into the leg has already stopped bleeding, and seemed to be trying to scab over. So the wolf would have had to been trapped here for at least a day, maybe more. A quick look around tells me that there hasn't been any other wolves this way at least since it got trapped, if at all. So likely its' also hungry on top of being injured.

I quickly find the catch release latch, and brace myself to try and pry the trap open. Looking to the wolf, and knowing it likely wouldn't understand me, I try to prepare it. "I'm just going to open the trap so you can get your leg out, but it's probably going to hurt, a lot. So, just don't bite my face off when I do, okay?" Even if the wolf just looked at me with a blank stare, the minion apparently understood what I meant, and immediately went to work distracting the wolf from me about to open the trap. It didn't stay distracted long.

As soon as I started opening the trap it jerked its head back and tried to snap at me, but the minion kept a firm grip on its neck and prevented it from biting into my own. After a minute of straining against the rusted iron of the trap spring, it opened enough that the wolf was able to jerk its' leg out of the trap itself. Once it was free, I cleared away as quickly from the trap myself, as I could. The trap's jaws snapping back with a sickening crunch, and a deafening clang. Nothing of mine was in the trap, nor the wolf or the minion, but when I looked closer I found the reason for the crunch. In removing the trap, it ripped some of the flesh from the scabbing wounds, and bit down on them as it closed.

I already knew that the wound would reopen once I got it out of the trap, but it was bleeding out really quickly. I pulled off my top coat, then my under coat, and then took off my top shirt. Once down to just the two shirts I quickly realized just how cold it still was out here, and put back on my two coats. I freed my sword from its scabbard and used it to tear my shirt into strips and cloths. Using some of the larger pieces I quickly wiped the wound, then using another large cloth wrapped it around the leg, and then used the strips to wind around the cloth swap to tighten it and hopefully slow the bleeding. We'd probably have to backtrack to get to some water where I could more thoroughly clean the wound and redress it.

Needless to say, the wolf protested to being carried, and insisted on walking on its own. The only reason I could think of that it even followed us, was that the minion coaxed it to follow us. It wasn't long that we returned to the icy beach of a shore, and it was then that I realized that I didn't have anything to prepare the water to clean the wound. Trying not to focus on how I knew that the water was like sea water, and thus would burn treating the wound, I quickly made a mental list of what I was missing. Pots, pans, more cloth, and fire. Breathing a sigh of frustration, I realize that I'll be backtracking even more; mostly to gather dry fire wood, but also to grab some of those pots I saw at the abandoned camp, and hope they weren't rusted through.

Ordering the minion to stay with the wolf, I started my trek back, gathering what wood I could find, needles for kindling, and what little dry grass I could find, which was ever more odd about this northern land. When I finally reached the old camp, I barely had an armful of tiny limbs and large twigs, certainly not enough to start a fire. Finding a dry spot, a still intact wool that was used for wrapping fire logs, I place my meager pickings upon it and scoured the camp. Finding some still usable logs I added them to my pile, and luckily some flint and stone. The pots and pans left much to be desired, and I'm almost certain not a whole piece between the lot of them. Still I picked out the better looking among them, found some intact cloth, of all things, clean too. Well, as clean as discarded cloth left to rot could be at any rate.

Although it'd probably ruin my sword's blade, I scrapped what rust I could from the pots that I was able to, and while looking for a fire rack, found some still intact jugs… empty, thankfully. So, placing everything on the wool with the wood, I realized that it was perhaps best if I built the fire here, instead of on an ice shore. Shaking my head at my shortsightedness, I hefted two of the larger jugs and started back to the shore, again. When I made it there, I could see the minion playing games with the wolf, and chuckled at the child like antics. Washing the jugs out, before storing water in them, I then ordered the minion to follow me back. Already it was late in the evening, and soon dusk would fall.

For a wounded wolf, we made good time back to the camp, I quickly started a fire, placed a single log on, and started to boil the water. This didn't take nearly as long as I thought it would, and turned out the pots at least weren't in that bad a shape. Using some of the water I rinsed out smaller jugs, and by the time I filtered out as much of the sea salt as I could, I had three smaller jugs of water, and one large basin pan filled with steaming hot water. Using this, and the minion's distraction, I cleaned as well as I could the wolf's injured leg, and bound it again. Apparently this was enough to put the wolf to sleep. And let it sleep I did.

Asking the minion to stay once more, I took up a bow, and found some still usable sinew to string the bow, and found some arrows. Night had already set in, and hunting down small wildlife, for some reason, was easier than it should have been even if it was still early. But I'd managed three small hares, and a pheasant of some sort. The fire was almost out by the time I got back, and so I put on another log, and stoked the fire. Quickly draining, and skinning the hares, and used the sea salt to cure two of them, I sat the third on a pike over the fire. Small though the fire was, with my winter clothes it was all I needed to stay warm that night.

At some point the cooking hare must of woken the wolf cause as I was curing the other two hares, I heard it whine. I didn't really know how to prepare a bird, so I simply tossed the pheasant to the wolf, and it tore into it was gusto. It was actually kind of nauseating to hear the crunch of bone and flesh. But I was able to keep my stomach down. After setting the hares to dry on a moderately usable rack, I turned to the cooking hare, and tested the meat… it was almost done. I took the time to count out how many arrows I had left. Ended up having to brake two of them to remove the bolts from my kills. All told only eleven arrows, and nary a quiver to hold them. Still there were some twin to bind them, and so I did.

Using the light of the fire I scrounged through the surrounding camp near the fire, and found a sharpening stone, three more arrows, and a small knife, rusted at the hilt. But the blade was still usable. And a jar of lubricating oil was just at the edge of one of the broken huts. Barely saw it in the shadowed recess, but managed. So, I started to sharpen the knife. Once I was finished, so to was the hare. Using the newly sharpened knife I cut up the hare, and could see the minion salivating at the meat. I knew I wouldn't eat it all, and so shared a larger portion with the minion. It readily gobbled it down, noisily, and messily.

There wasn't much to sleep on, but at least I found something to roll up and lay my head on, and so, settling in for the night, I laid by the fire, wondering just what else I would come across in this wilderness. The fire crackling, and popping lulled me to sleep rather easily, my last thoughts before succumbing to my body's demand for rest was on the oddity of my first encounter being with a wild wolf, and befriending it… largely due to the minion at my side. And at why the minion was able to make friends with it so quickly and easily. But with that, my mind slid off into dreams, of darkness, of light, magic, and an ageless enemy working against me and my conquest. And that damnable laugh of theirs, at every turn.


End file.
